The Hitwoman in a Pickle (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 18)

by Lynn, JB

  “Not like it’s a question. Like you mean it.”

  He shrugged helplessly. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome, uncle of Maggie,” the older female said kindly.

  Thurston listened to her grunting carefully. “It’s like it understood me.”

  “She,” I corrected. “She understood you.”

  Again, he gave me that look like he thought I should share housing with my mother.

  I sighed. “Was there anything else?”

  “No. I just wanted to let you know about Archibald’s plans.”

  “Thanks. I guess.” I glanced at my watch. “I’ve got a busy day, so if that’s it.”

  “Be careful, Maggie,” he warned.

  I nodded and began to walk away.

  “Goodbye, talking human!” Cleo called.

  I waved to her.

  “Burritos,” the older gorilla called out. “Bean burritos.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  I headed back to the B&B hoping to nap for a couple of hours, but when I arrived, there was a familiar face sitting on the front porch.

  I parked my car, got out, and trudged up the porch steps, steeling myself for what came next.

  “Did you know that your body could be made into a diamond, chica?”

  I plopped into a chair and gave Armani the same look my uncle had recently given me. “Huh?”

  “It doesn’t have to be ashes to ashes, dust to dust. It can be ashes to diamonds.” She nodded excitedly, her dark, shampoo-commercial-worthy hair bouncing like a rubber ball.

  I resisted the urge to point out that ever since she’d won the lottery, she’d been finding really weird ways to waste money.

  “You could diamondize your pets, too. At least, the dog, the others might be too small.”

  “I am not turning DeeDee into a diamond.”

  “You have no sense of adventure.”

  I rolled my eyes. If she only knew the adventures I have. “You have no sense,” I countered sharply. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had a vision. I have to warn you.”

  My stomach flipped nervously. My psychic friend had a lot of faults, but her predictions had a lot of truth to them. “Warn me about what?”

  “Pickle.”

  I nodded slowly. For once, her crazy psychic abilities made sense right away. I already knew the connection between Thurston and pickles. “What exactly did you see?”

  “I didn’t see anything.”

  “But you said you had a vision.”

  “I heard it.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “So by definition, it really wasn’t a vision.”

  “Do not argue with the power,” Armani warned. “Pickle.”

  I raised my hands in surrender, knowing full well that she’d been right way too many times for me to disregard her advice. “Okay, okay. Pickle.”

  “Also, get a haircut.”

  Reaching up, I stroked the back of my head. “You had a vision about me getting a haircut?”

  “No. You just need a haircut. I can’t believe you went out with Angel looking like that. How’d that go, by the way?”

  I told her about the pickles, and the rooftop stargazing, and how the date had gotten cut short. She nodded, not seeming surprised by any of it.

  “Can I ask you something?” I asked when I was done with the story.

  “Sure.”

  “Have you had any visions about Aunt Susan?”

  She shook her head. “Why?”

  “I dunno. She looks tired and she went away with Griswald.”

  “Good. Maybe she’ll get some rest.”

  “Maybe.”

  Armani watched me carefully. “You’re worried about her?”

  I shrugged. “Katie mentioned that she was talking to a doctor. I mean, it could have been that she was talking to one of my mom’s doctors but…” I trailed off, unable to voice my concern that something was wrong with my aunt.

  “You share a special connection with her.”

  “Yeah,” I chuckled. “We drive each other crazy.”

  “My bag’s on the front seat of my car,” Armani offered. “Get it.”

  Against my better judgment, I got the purple cloth bag and brought it back to the porch.

  “Give it a good shake,” Armani urged.

  I did, making the wooden tiles clatter. I handed the bag to her so she could work her voodoo magic or whatever it is that courses through her. She hugged the bag to her chest, closed her eyes, and then held it out to me. I reached in and pulled out seven pieces.

  I put them down on the table near Armani and she put them in alphabetical order.

  E E L O P R S

  “Eel ropes,” she said. “Or eel pores. Or eel spore.”

  I shook my head. “None of those make sense. Plus, you’re adding an extra e.”

  “Well, what do you see?”

  “Sleep or.” Even as I said it, I realized I’d probably thought of that because of my need for a nap.

  “Sleep or what?”

  “Die?” I frowned. “If you can’t sleep, you die, don’t you?”

  “Maybe it’s Re-slope,” Armani said excitedly. “I mean, she’s always playing with her plants. Maybe she’s re-sloping the flower beds.”

  “I’m not sure that’s even a thing.”

  “You’ll have to figure it out on your own. I’ve got to go.” She awkwardly leveraged herself out of the chair. I’m off to class.”

  “What kind of class?”

  “Oil painting. I’m painting a portrait.”

  I nodded approvingly. That sounded a lot more reasonable than carbonizing the remains of living creatures. “Who’s the portrait of?”

  She smirked. “Me, of course.”

  I chuckled. Of course it was. She’d been obsessed with her own portrait ever since she’d seen some hanging in the house of a rich family I’d recently helped out. “I can’t wait to see it when it’s done.”

  “Maybe I’ll gift it to you.”

  I gulped, hoping she was joking. After she’d limped out to her car and was pulling out of the driveway, I leaned tiredly against a porch column, feeling like it had already been an exhausting day.

  Before I could get inside, I heard, “Hey, doll.”

  Turning, I found that Mike had landed on the rail and was watching me intently.

  “Hi, Mike.”

  “Piss wants you to go pick them up.”

  I frowned. “Already?”

  Mike raised his wings, the equivalent of a bird shrug. “I’m just the messenger. A glorified carrier pigeon. But trust me, those guys are insufferable. Always bragging about the tiny little scrolls they’ve got strapped to their cankles.”

  “Birds have cankles?”

  “Pigeons have cankles.” He pecked at the wood for emphasis. “Anyway, the cat seemed to think it’s important you get over there ASAP.”

  I sighed, realizing my naptime was turning into a nightmare. “Fine. Let me let DeeDee out and then I’ll head over.”

  The crow beat his wings and took off, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll let them know you’re on the way.”

  Since time was now of the essence, I didn’t cut through the B&B. Instead, I hurried around the outside and yanked open the storm door to the basement. The Doberman nearly flattened me as she rushed outside.

  While she did her thing, I descended the stairs. “I’ve got to pick up Piss and Benny,” I told God, who was in his glass terrarium, lounging on a piece of driftwood like it was a luxurious chaise lounge.

  “Already?” He stretched leisurely. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”

  “Mike said they’re ready. Do you want to go?”

  “But of course.” He leapt off the branch and waited expectantly for me to lower my hand so that he could race up my arm.

  “Do the letters E E L O P R S mean anything to you?” I asked as he settled himself between my breasts.

  “Sole rep,” he said with authority.

&
nbsp; That made no more sense than Armani’s eel guess, so I adjusted the gun tucked into the waistband of my jeans and changed the subject. “My father’s coming back to town.”

  God’s groan echoed my dismay.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Since God was going, DeeDee insisted that she get to accompany me to the ice cream shop, too.

  Having cracked the window for her, I left her in the car while I went into the alley to find Piss. “Are you here?” I whispered, wrinkling my nose against the stench of the nearby garbage dumpster.

  “Here! Here! Here!” Benny called excitedly.

  Piss emerged from behind the dumpster, the white mouse gingerly clasped in her mouth.

  “She’s killed him,” God gasped from his perch on my shoulder.

  “No. No. No,” Benny argued, proving he was very much alive.

  Before I could ask what they’d discovered, a door opened and Kevin Beader, carrying a garbage bag, stepped out. He paused when he saw me and frowned when recognition dawned.

  I felt the lizard scurry from my shoulder to mold his length to the back of my ear.

  “What are you doing?” Beader asked accusingly.

  Panicked, I stared at him, not knowing what to say. Part of me just wanted to blow him away, but I didn’t have proof yet that he’d done what others had accused him of. Plus, it was the middle of the day, and as Patrick had drilled into me countless times, the first rule of being a paid assassin is “Don’t get caught”. Or maybe that’s the second rule…I get the rules mixed up sometimes.

  So I just stood there, staring at the accused pedophile while he advanced toward me looking very, very angry. I wondered if the expression he wore was the same he used to frighten and manipulate his young victims.

  A crow cawed, drawing my gaze to the roof of the building. “I could pluck his eyes out,” Mike offered.

  I shook my head imperceptibly, not yet ready to resort to violence.

  “My cat got out of my car earlier,” God whispered.

  “My cat got loose,” I dutifully repeated.

  Beader stopped advancing and stared at me suspiciously. “And you think it came here?”

  “From the car. From the car,” God prompted.

  “She got out of my car,” I explained.

  “And here I am,” Piss meowed loudly, grabbing his attention while she rubbed against my legs.

  Looking down, I saw that Benny was playing dead at my feet. Considering how much his whiskers were twitching, I didn’t think he was very convincing, but Beader wasn’t paying attention to that.

  “You drive around with your pet in your car?”

  “All the time.” I scooped up Piss, who’d picked up Benny again, and took a few steps backward.

  Beader followed.

  “My dog’s in the car right now,” I told him hurriedly. “I promised her some ice cream.”

  Beader looked out at the parking lot. “I don’t see a dog.”

  “DeeDee say hello,” I ordered on a yell that cracked with desperation.

  “Let her obey a command for once,” God offered up in a fervent whisper.

  “DeeDee say hello,” I shouted again, not liking the look on Beader’s face.

  “Hello DeeDee,” the Doberman woofed.

  Beader visibly relaxed.

  “See?” I said with way too much cheer. “Dog’s in the car. Cat was in the alley.”

  Clutched in my arms, she purred loudly to emphasize my point.

  “What kind of ice cream?” Beader asked.

  “What?”

  “What kind of ice cream do you want for your dog?”

  “Vanilla,” I answered automatically.

  “Come on in. I’ll get you some.”

  “Don’t do it,” God urged. “It’s the equivalent of offering a ride to a serial killer hitchhiker.”

  I ignored him. “Sure,” I told Beader with a fake smile. “Let me just put the cat in the car before she gets away from me again. I’ll be right in.”

  Even though it went against my better judgment, I turned my back to him and forced myself to walk away slowly while every cell in my body wanted to just run.

  Reaching my car, I glanced back to see if Beader was still watching me. He’d disappeared from sight.

  “Hello DeeDee,” the dog barked as I opened the rear door and gently placed Piss and Benny on the seat.

  “Good girl,” I murmured.

  “Call Patrick,” Piss urged. “Don’t go in there alone.”

  “It’s the middle of the day,” I said with more assurance than I felt. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  “That’s what all murder victims say,” God griped, retaking his position on my shoulder.

  “If they’re victims, they’re dead and they’re not saying anything,” Piss pointed out testily.

  “Before they’re murdered.”

  “Have you seen a lot of serial killer victims before they were murdered?” The cat flexed her claws, indicating his safety was endangered.

  “On the television, you imbecile.” The lizard snapped his tail like a whip.

  “Those are called movies,” the cat countered. “They’re fiction. That means they’re made up.”

  “Well, I watch documentaries,” God declared haughtily.

  “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Benny ordered.

  “Up shut,” DeeDee agreed excitedly.

  God sighed dramatically. “She can’t even repeat two syllables correctly.”

  “Everyone except Benny be quiet.” I crouched down so that I was eye level with the mouse. “What did you find out, Benny?”

  “Pickle. Pickle. Pickle.”

  “There are no pickles in an ice cream shop,” God interjected.

  “Hush,” I warned. “What do you mean by pickles?”

  “Pickle. Pickle. Pickle.”

  I frowned, wondering if his ramblings had something to do with Thurston and the gorillas, or even Petra the pickle person.

  “That’s all he would say,” Piss said worriedly. “He came scurrying out, just repeating that.”

  God found it necessary to remind us. “He repeats everything.”

  “Call Patrick,” Piss pleaded. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “You guys stay here,” I said, standing up. “I’ll call Patrick, go inside and get some ice cream, and be right back out.”

  “Ice cream?” DeeDee panted hopefully.

  “Don’t eat it,” Piss warned. “It could be poisoned.”

  I didn’t disagree. That was a very real possibility.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  I called Patrick as I slowly headed back toward the ice cream shop, but there was no answer. I didn’t bother to leave him a message since I had nothing specific to report.

  “This is a bad idea,” God warned.

  “You can wait in the car with the others,” I offered.

  “And leave you on your own? What would you do without me?”

  “I think I’d survive,” I replied dryly, reaching back and patting the gun I had hidden in the waistband of my jeans.

  While I waited for a gaggle of six kids and three harried mothers to exit the shop, the lizard hid in my bra.

  A handful of paper towels in one hand and a bottle of spray cleaner in the other, Beader was wiping down the storefront window near the door, leaving streaks everywhere he touched.

  Noting that the store was devoid of customers, and that even the teenage employees weren’t visible, a chill rushed down my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature of the space.

  “Cup or cone for the dog?” Beader asked as I walked inside.

  Doing my best not to appear nervous, I replied, “A cup. It’s less messy.”

  “Which size?” He pointed to a row of sample cups.

  I heard a strange click as I said, “The medium should do it.”

  “When I was a kid, we had a poodle named Muffy,” Beader said, moving toward the ice cream counter.

  I fell into st
ep beside him.

  “She ate ice cream, too,” he continued. “Until one day someone killed her.”

  I gasped. “Oh, that’s so sad.”

  “It was.” Beader stopped and faced me. “I got in a lot of trouble for that. Mother was fond of that mangy mutt.”

  With that, he raised the bottle he held and sprayed it in my face.

  I tried to duck away but wasn’t fast enough. The ammonia got into my eyes and nose and throat, blinding me and making it hard to breathe.

  “Aaaah!” God screamed.

  I stumbled away from Beader, knocking into a table, trying to get to the door, even as I realized that the clicking sound I’d heard had been him locking it. Tripping over a chair, I fell to my knees, desperately trying to breathe as hot tears stung my eyes.

  I was dimly aware of the sound of Mike’s wings beating against the window glass and him calling my name. I tried to crawl in that direction.

  Another blast hit me in the face. I recoiled from the pain.

  “Oh, it says here on the bottle ‘Do not spray into eyes’. Let me help you with that.” He grabbed my arm, digging his fingers into my flesh and yanking me to my feet.

  I struggled to get away but was disoriented by my burning eyes and my inability to breathe properly. I considered pulling my gun, but my eyes were tearing so badly I wasn’t sure I’d even point it in the right direction.

  Beader dragged me along, inflicting pain along the way. As I struggled to stay alive, I remembered that I’d taken on professional assassins and lifelong violent criminals and this guy was supposed to “just” be a child molester. He wasn’t the first I’d encountered and he wasn’t going to be the death of me, I silently pledged.

  He slammed me against a wall, a bone-jarring blow that rattled my skull. “Who do you work for?”

  I clawed at my throat, trying to clear my airway, which felt like it was being scorched with a flamethrower.

  My wrists were jerked behind my back, my shoulders stretched to their limit. Terrified he’d find my gun, I tried to squirm away, but he held on tighter, wrapping something hard around them.

  Suddenly, I was thrust beneath cool running water. It extinguished the worst of the flames. I swallowed it greedily, trying to soothe my throat.

  Just as abruptly, I was removed from the flow.